She Has Given Birth To Vagabonds. She

I Dream Of Writing A Book Like Lovers Some Day. It Is So Spare But So Rich. It Is History Made Intimate, And A Masterpiece Of Compression.

In The Days That Follow, He Begins To Remember Things About Moushumi, Images That Come To Him Without Warning While He Is Sitting At His Desk At Work, Or During A Meeting, Or Drifting Off To Sleep, Or Standing In The Mornings Under The Shower. They Are Scenes He Has Carried Within Him, Buried But Intact, Scenes He Has Never Thought About Or Had Reason To Conjure Up Until Now.

The First Sentence Of A Book Is A Handshake, Perhaps An Embrace.

One Hand, Five Homes. A Lifetime In A Fist.

She Supposed That All Those Years Of Loving A Person Who Was Dishonest Had Taught Her A Few Things.